


True Awakening

by Selenic



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Kiss, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Non-Consensual Drug Use, POV Alternating, Rare Pairings, Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-13
Updated: 2014-06-13
Packaged: 2018-02-04 13:49:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1781317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Selenic/pseuds/Selenic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a traumatic event John intends to leave Atlantis.</p>
            </blockquote>





	True Awakening

**Author's Note:**

> THERE IS A HAPPY ENDING, I PROMISE.
> 
> This is my entry for the 2014 Stargate Atlantis Reverse Big Bang. The main pairing is John/Carson, but there is a little of Rodney/Radek thrown in :)
> 
> I want to thank Shayasar [for the awesome art](http://shayasar.livejournal.com/110416.html) (she even added the title of the fic into it!), and for her love of the pairing, both which inspired me greatly ^_^
> 
> I also wish to thank neeverbrody, without whose encouragement I would not even have dared to take part in SGARB, and my three all around amazing helpers melagan, zoemathemata, and busaikko, without whose help this story would never have been finished. I owe you big time. All remaining mistakes are completely mine, and I apologize beforehand for my lack of medical and military knowledge. All feedback is welcome, especially if I got something horribly wrong :)
> 
> A big hug to everyone who cheered me on along the way, you are precious and amazing *HUGS*
> 
> More notes and babbling after the fic ^_^
> 
> Crossposted on [LJ](http://selenic76.livejournal.com/34145.html) | [DW](http://selenic76.dreamwidth.org/1585.html)

 

True Awakening

 

Prologue

 

John could no longer feel the coldness of the concrete floor beneath him, or hear anything but the quiet hum of the distant machinery beyond his small makeshift cell. His vision was blurry from the drugs, barely able to distinguish any details in the surrounding gray. It was almost a welcome change to the overly vivid and sharp images the hallucinations brought with them. He could no longer tell what was real. The constant tremors that shook John to the core had become his last hope, a sign that his body still fought back. Time had no meaning any more, and he really should have just given up by now. But instead John curled up tighter, trying to stop the last remnants of heat escaping his thinned frame, a single question screaming in his head.

_Are they safe?_

He fell into darkness without an answer.

 

~~~

 

Warmth, softness—brightness that John could sense but didn’t dare to open his eyes to, fearing it would all once again turn out to be nothing but delusion. He heard the muted sounds of people talking somewhere close by, familiar voices that made John’s heart beat fast, his chest ache and tears well up in his eyes. _Please, not this, not again._ The happier visions had begun to hurt even more than the ones where everyone died horribly.

“Apart from the bruises that resulted from being tied up, I have found no traces of physical torture, but the amount of chemicals we found in his bloodstream...” Carson's low voice trailed off, the accent unmistakable, thick as it was with barely controlled anger. John's hallucinations hadn't included Carson before, just his team; maybe they had upped the dosage or added another drug to the cocktail. John had no idea what exactly was in each shot, and he suspected his captors didn't either. The bottles had held no labels, and there had been so many of them.

“During his captivity they injected John with a wide variety of substances, and though amazingly it appears his body has sustained no irreversible injury, there’s no telling what the long term effects will be on his body, or his mind.” Carson's words brought up flashes of memories of being tied up, the needle sinking into John’s flesh over and over again, of repeated questions, alternated between soothing and raging tones. Right now, John couldn’t remember what the questions had been, or if he had answered them. Yet he could recall with clarity that the people asking had been as anxious as they had been inexperienced with interrogation.

“But he will eventually recover, will he not?” Teyla was as soft-spoken as always, but her words carried subtle notes of things bubbling beneath the calm surface.

“Only time can answer that question, lass.” Carson sighed. "It will take time for his body to process the drugs. In the meantime, all we can do is monitor his condition and wait." The ensuing silence carried on for too long. _It would all fade soon, just like every other time_. He would lose them again. Something between a gasp and a sob escaped his mouth.

“Wait, did you hear that?” That was Rodney, sounding worried. “Is he crying? He’s awake? Carson!”

Several pairs of feet moved across a floor with haste, and John sensed a presence of people gathering around him, hands gently settling on his arms and legs. John barely flinched; he was tired of trying to escape their grasps, be they of imaginary friends or real enemies.

“Sheppard, hey, you awake?” Rodney asked cautiously. The awkward hand on John's arm probably belonged to him, barely resting on it as if it would break. John would perhaps have believed him to be real if he’d started a lecture on how stupid John had been to exchange his freedom for theirs. Like he could have made any other choice. _Safe, are they safe?_

“John, can you hear us?” Teyla, voice exuding serenity and strength like a true leader, but also deep concern, slender fingers carefully wrapping around John’s shoulder. The angry silence emanating from the foot of the bed and the firm hand on his leg must be Ronon, his grip slightly painful even through the fabric covering John, conveying fury, grief and hope. John didn't dare to feel any of them. Maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad way to die, lost in a dream where his friends surrounded him. If there was a God, or any higher being watching this, John prayed they would show mercy and let him do just that.

More hands found him, investigative and determined, professional, yet too gentle to be those of his captors.

“Pulse is a little high, but blood pressure is getting closer to normal,” a female voice noted, a nurse perhaps? “According to the brainwave monitors he should be awake.” Only now did the steady electric hum and random beeps of machinery around him seep into John’s consciousness. He felt things on his skin, something attached to his chest and temples. A seed of doubt entered John’s mind—this dream was getting way too crowded and detailed to be drug induced.

“I still daren’t give him anything but nutritional fluids yet. Any additional medication might cause unpredictable reactions.” John felt steady hands insert a needle into in his arm, almost giving rise to panic. But the hands were warm, so warm, and so solid, the touch of them as they taped the needle in place nothing like those of the eerie ghostlike fingers in his dreams. After having to struggle for silence for so long, John now fought to find his voice.

“Hey, Doc,” John managed to croak through his parched, constricted throat, causing a collective gasp around him, “this for real?” The warm pair of hands enveloped his own, squeezing encouragingly. _Are they safe, please tell me they're safe?_

“Why don’t you open your eyes, lad, so you can see for yourself,” Carson told him. John took a deep breath and held it for a second, letting the touch of each hand ground him, then let it out and did as the doctor had suggested.

Everything was too bright at first, and hazy, but eventually swam into some kind of focus. The high ceiling of the Atlantis infirmary, the room, the machinery and furnishing around him, consisting of both Earth-made and Lantean design—and the crowd of faces surrounding him, some more teary than others but all equally relieved. John found it hard to look in the eyes of his team, still fearing they would vanish into thin air, so he sought out Carson’s face instead.

“You’re home now,” Carson said, nearly managing to maintain the expression of a professional, but weariness and concern were obvious in the lines of his face and his smile, relief shining in his eyes. John nodded, and succeeded in delivering a brief smile in return. Maybe he could to trust this for now, allow himself the luxury of believing this to be real. _They were safe, they were all safe._

The laughter came, hysterical, unbidden but unstoppable, finally breaking down John’s tightly held soldier’s façade. It was over. Everyone was home, he was home.

If only he could stay.

Suddenly everything became too overwhelming, the world around him started to spin nauseatingly, and John had to close his eyes again.

"I think I'm going to be sick," he whispered. Moving as one the people around him helped him lean over the side of the bed.

 

~~~

 

_"Enjoying the view, Doc?" Carson heard someone behind him ask. Major John Sheppard joined Carson's side on the balcony, casually resting his hands against the railing and taking a deep breath of the ocean air. It must be a talent, Carson thought, to be able to seem so relaxed right after almost drowning with the entire city of the Ancients—his own fingers were grabbing the railing tight, the sight before him filling him with both pure awe and bloodcurdling terror._

_"Depends on what you consider enjoyable, Major," Carson replied, and turned his back to the city and the ocean. "This is all quite overwhelming to be honest, and I sincerely hope that we've not just witnessed an example of a typical day in the Pegasus Galaxy. I'm just not good with this sort of thing." The Major chuckled and shifted to lean sideways to face the doctor._

_"I'd say it's a relatively safe bet that something like this won't be a daily occurrence. Probably not even a biweekly event," he said, and flashed Carson a grin. "So what made you join the Expedition then, if not your sense of adventure?"_

_"Right now I'm thinking it was bloody insanity," Carson stated glumly. In truth, he wasn't really certain, but they had needed him, so he had come._

_"Well then you'll fit in just fine with the rest of us crazy folk who agreed to have our atoms flung across the universe," the Major said, as if it had been just like one of those rides in amusement parks. They always made Carson feel queasy._

_"Don't even remind me about that," he groaned. "I still have terrible nightmares about being put back together wrong, or having someone else's parts." Sheppard replied with another brief laugh. Carson was beginning to like how it sounded, as well as the curve of those lips when Sheppard smiled. "But all else aside," Carson continued, averting his gaze to stop staring at the Major's mouth, and turning instead to take another dizzying look at the wide expanse of Atlantis below, "I have this strange sense of being home, like I'm connected to this place somehow." Carson couldn't really explain it. Maybe it had something to do with the ATA gene, or maybe he really was going slightly mad._

_He expected another witty remark from the Major, but instead the man joined Carson in admiring the city, and said quietly, almost lovingly: "Yeah, I know what you mean." Carson smiled to himself and thought that having this man be a part of his new home might make things not quite so scary, and quite a bit more enjoyable._

~~~

 

After making sure things were cleaned up and John was stable for the moment, Carson left him with his team and retreated to the safety of his office where he sunk into his chair and shuddered as he let the anger and relief finally overtake him. Carson would have cried had he not been so sickened and stunned by it all. He had never been ashamed to show his emotions, but his profession and position often demanded that he keep a tight lid on them. No one wanted to see worry or tears on the face of their hoped saviour, least of all someone like John, who rarely let himself feel weak or draw strength from others.

The sight of the dull pallor of John's skin stretched over the clearly diminished muscles, body mottled with multicoloured bruises from tightly wound ropes, the darkness beneath John's eyes and the still livid needle marks on his arms, and even how the usually unruly hair now stuck close to John's head—it had hurt almost unbearably, making it hard to think or even breathe. If it wasn't for the years of experience in learning to cope with the pain, Carson would have collapsed under its weight. It was like with Perna, all over again. What was it about these self-sacrificing types that always made him fall for them? But he already knew the answer. He loved them for their willingness and desire to save others even at the cost of their own lives. John Sheppard epitomized the ideology.

Carson closed his eyes, taking comfort in the quiet sounds of conversation flowing in from the infirmary. John was safe, alive, and Carson would do all within his power to keep things that way. Not only because he loved him—which was another reason keep his emotions in check near the Colonel—but because he owed him. Carson wouldn't still be here, in Atlantis, if it weren't for John.

After what had happened with the Hoffans, with Perna.... Carson had gone straight to his quarters once they got back, not sure if he ever wanted to come out again. It was one thing to know that what had transpired was not your fault, that there was nothing you could have done, and another entirely to stop blaming yourself for the deaths of not only the woman you had fallen in love with, but God, so many others. Carson had not come to Pegasus with the naive assumption that things would be easy or uncomplicated, but nothing had prepared him for that.

John had been the one to come to him, and talk Carson out of resigning.

Tonight Carson had seen the same pain on John's face, the same longing for that dark room where he could hide forever. Carson had mourned, deeply, but he had survived. He couldn't help but wonder if John had ever allowed himself to grieve for anything.

Lost in his thoughts, Carson didn't even notice Marie walk in until a gentle hand landed on his shoulder and startled him. The sight of Marie's warm smile quickly made all the fears forming in his mind dissipate.

"He's fine, at least for now. But you look like you should get some rest," she told him with a slightly mothering but comforting tone. "He's not out of the woods yet, and none of you will gain anything if you wear yourself out worrying about him."

"Aye, I know," Carson replied, thankful for the comfort she offered. Marie was both a highly capable nurse and despite her sometimes stern appearance, a warm-hearted person. Carson trusted her implicitly. He had never outright told her how he felt about John, but she probably knew anyway. "I'll have a lie down in a moment, I just need to calm my nerves first. Seeing him like that really gets me out of sorts."

"Me too," Marie sighed, patting his shoulder before turning to leave. "I'm going to check on his vitals once more, and shoo the crowd away. And I'll be checking up on you later, doctor, and if you haven't taken at least a decent nap, I will personally drag you to your quarters and tie you to your bed, do I make myself clear?"

"Perfectly," Carson replied, certain she was not making an empty threat. But as he watched Marie walk over to the people hovering over John—and begin a very diplomatic sounding negotiation with Teyla about only one non-medical person at a time being allowed to stay and keep John company—Carson already knew making good on his word would not be easy. His eyes shifted to John's tormented figure, anchored to this world by the hands of his friends.

It would be impossible to hand over John's care to another. Not even Marie. Leaving the infirmary now would go against every fibre of his being, and Carson would be the first to admit how unprofessional of him it was as a doctor. Rodney caught his eye, and with a few words excused himself from the group and came over to Carson.

"You're staring," Rodney noted as he arrived, though it was not with his usual teasing tone. Carson hastily swivelled his chair around, reluctantly turning his back to the rest of the dispersing team.

"How... how are you holding up?" Rodney inquired, pulling up another chair and sitting down near Carson, his expression one of concern and slight discomfort. Poor Rodney, he was a good friend, but consoling didn't come naturally to him. "Anything I can do?"

"Not much at the moment, no," Carson sighed, apparently much to Rodney's relief. "You helped save him, that's more than enough. But thank you for asking, Rodney."

"That's what friends are for, right?" Rodney said, and tried to smile, but the best his mouth could manage was a brief, lopsided twitch of one corner. "I mean, this must be hard for you, considering." Excluding all the times Rodney had insisted Carson should ask John out on a date, Carson had never regretted telling Rodney he was in love with John. He had needed to share it with someone, and Rodney would never betray Carson's trust.

"I imagine it hasna been easy for you or the others either. You've slept nary a wink during all of this." Not that Carson had, either, and the dark under his eyes was just as deep as under Rodney's. The last couple of weeks had been the longest of Carson's life.

Carson risked another glance towards John. Taking into account the time it took for the team to find their way back after they had been released, John had endured twenty days of hell. Carson took what little consolation he could from the fact that judging by John's condition his captors had at least bothered to provide him with food and water—most of which Carson suspected John hadn't been able to keep down anyway.

Teyla had apparently taken first watch, and it eased Carson's pain to see her conversing with John, almost as if they had just returned from a routine mission with only a few scrapes to take care of.

"Carson," Rodney said, so softly it was hard to believe it was him. Carson turned towards his friend, and met his serious eyes. "He will make it." Carson nodded, and sighed deeply. He needed to believe that, too.

"Just let me know if you, uh, wanna talk, or something," Rodney told him, awkwardly patting Carson's knee as he got up, stretching and yawning. "I think I'll take a tour through the labs to see what damage has been done during my absence."

"I think you will find Doctor Zelenka has already retired for the night," Carson said with more than a hint of innuendo. Rodney's only answer was a happy crooked smile, and then he walked out. He'd head straight to Radek's quarters, hopefully to sleep, or at least rest for while. Their relationship wasn't a secret as such, but it was still new and fragile, and Rodney wasn't taking any more chances—he had already taken the one that mattered, and Carson was happy that it had paid off. His own courage had yet failed him in doing the same.

Suddenly Carson felt thoroughly exhausted, all the weariness of the past weeks finally catching up with him. Maybe he should take that nap now. He would need his strength later. But certain things needed to be done first.

Carson picked up the radio and made two calls; one to Elizabeth to inform her of the situation, one to Dr. Kate Heightmeyer to let her know John was awake. Guards had already been posted just outside the infirmary as soon as they'd brought John in, but the precaution only applied to a physical threat. Once they were certain that John would not be a danger to them the guards would not be necessary. No matter what Carson felt in his heart, there were no guarantees that John hadn't been, or still wasn't, under anyone's control but his own. In any case, John would be needing both medical leave, and counselling.

When he finally put the radio down, Carson was ready to collapse. He still refused to leave the infirmary, but chose instead a comfy sofa in a quiet corner not too far from John's bed as his place of rest, and lay down. As he waited for sleep to come, Carson was surprised when a soft melodious voice began to drift through the infirmary. Teyla was still standing by John's bedside, her hand placed gently on John's arm, and she was singing. Something about clear skies and the flight of birds. After noticing John's eyes slowly close and his breathing become more restful, Carson fell asleep in seconds.

 

~~~

 

_"What do you mean it's not a weapon, what else could it be!" The man called Modun was pacing around the room anxiously. John had him pegged as the leader of the disorganized little group. The others seemed to be obeying him for various reasons, and to different degrees. None of them wore a uniform, and they all seemed young in comparison to the usual Genii soldiers. Most looked to be way under or barely out of their twenties._

_"To tell you the truth, I don't know," John told Modun, knowing the answer would not go down well, but there would be no point in fabricating a lie he couldn't keep up for long. Though the nervously wavering guns pointed at him certainly made the option appealing. "I can turn it on again, push more buttons and make it light up like a Christmas tree, not that you guys even get the reference, but that won't tell me any more than it does to you. What little I understand of the interface implies that it was not built for war."_

_"Maybe he's telling the truth," Emry interrupted, stepping out of the shadows of the room. He was the most sensible of the lot, and obviously the one having most doubts about the whole endeavour. John suspected the others let him tag along just because they needed someone who was more brains than brawn to understand what it was they had found. Emry had most likely been the one to steal the information about this place in the first place. "Maybe we should just leave him, and get out of here. There are thousands of places like this scattered around, we will find a weapon in some other one."_

_"No, he's lying," Modun replied, ignoring Emry's plea. He would be the stubborn type then, the kind that wouldn't give up until you gave him what he wanted. "You know what they're like, what they have done, waking up the Wraith. I bet they even had their hand in what happened to Cowen, and the uprising of that coward who won't do what it takes to saves us all. Tie him up, I'm going to get Reesa. She brought something that might loosen his tongue."_

_Modun looked at John, and for a split second, there was despair in his eyes, like even he didn't want to be doing this._

 

~~~

 

John's whole body jerked awake, shaky and sweaty, nausea settling in once more and forcing him to lean over the side of the bed and retch, emptying once again, with gut-twisting spasms, what little content his stomach held. Two strong arms appeared from somewhere beyond his darkening vision, wrapping around John's torso and holding him still until the convulsions stopped. But the nightmarish images remained—the faces of his team as they died, again and again; terrified, angry, betrayed, screaming—and so did the memory of the soul-numbing coldness of the concrete floor where he had lain in the grips of those visions. Maybe he was still there, because he felt like he was freezing, and the flimsy hospital gown offered only light coverage. However, gradually overtaking it all was a low, steady, familiar voice speaking into his ear.

"It's over, John. You're home now, it's over. Try to relax, lad, and it'll pass soon enough."

Carson. So those must be his hands, his arms, his warmth, spreading into John's bones. It felt good, safe. John let himself lean against the supporting frame, while his body settled and he regained the ability to breathe. How long had it been since he'd been held like this? So close, so vulnerable, without wanting to run away.

Reality returned, and with it the stark realization that being vulnerable was something the military leader of Atlantis could not afford. He was supposed to be the one that others looked up to in times of crisis. More than that, _John_ could not afford it, not now. He pulled back from the embrace just as the nurse—Marie, he recalled—ran into the scene, a tired-looking Rodney trailing behind her, a mug in hand. John could also pick up the figures of two Marines in the distance, guns at the ready, but pointed at the ground for now.

"I left him just for one minute, I needed to get some coffee and he looked like he was sound asleep," Rodney said, looking so damn guilty it hurt. John didn't need to be genius to figure out why. Rodney had fought his decision to go with the Genii to the end, until Ronon and Teyla had dragged him with them. John remembered his desperate face, looking back over his shoulder as they stepped through the gate and left him behind—the last thing he'd seen before being knocked unconscious.

"I was, Rodney," John said in a raspy whisper and forced a smile on his face. He took a cautious sip of the water Carson offered him, letting the coolness of it soothe his throat and then leaned back against the bed, the head of which Marie was already tilting into a more upright position. "It's just your luck to miss out on all the fun bits of my withdrawal."

The attempt at humour wasn't well received. In Rodney's case that was exactly what John wanted. The angry scowl John got from Rodney only made him smile wider for a moment, this time with genuine amusement. Rodney could be so predictable sometimes. John would miss teasing him just as much as he would miss racing RC cars with him.

"And which part of this do you find so amusing, Lt. Colonel 'let my team go and you can torture me all you want'?" Rodney snapped, waving his hands and spilling some of the coffee on the floor.

"I'm going to check on Niemeyer, the dressings on her burns need changing," Marie said, and made a discreetly tactical exit from the scene. John saw her wave a hasty 'everything's fine' signal to the Marines on her way.

"Rodney, I don't think this is a good time to—" Carson tried to calm Rodney down, but John lifted a hand to stop him. This was something that needed to happen. Carson obeyed reluctantly, and Rodney was too focused on chiding John to even take notice.

"We both know that I have a vastly better understanding about how Ancient technology actually works than you do, and with the gene therapy I can activate most of it too," Rodney kept spilling more coffee as he spoke, and he was also getting louder, like some sort of weird stopper had come loose from a high pressure coffee maker that was about to blow. "The stupid trinket they brought with them lit up for me as well, but you just had insist that the 'force was stronger' in you, so they picked you. I mean what the hell were you thinking? That we would just accept our losses and replace you with some stupid schmuck from SGC, who knows nothing about us, or about Atlantis, but knows how to take orders from Earth? No, you were too busy and stubborn being a hero, to even stop for a moment to consider _that you should have let them take me_!"

The last words were delivered in an angry crescendo that echoed long after Rodney actually fell silent. It never failed; getting Rodney angry was the most efficient way of getting him to reveal what was on his mind, and get it out of his system. His anger now spent, Rodney took a moment to gather himself. The now empty coffee mug hung limply in his hand. "They should have taken me," he said firmly in final protest. "You could have died, and then who would punch me in the arm when I'm being stupid, or make me perform miraculous feats by declaring them impossible." It was a very Rodney way of saying how much he valued their friendship.

"Come 'ere," John beckoned his friend closer with his hand, and Rodney stepped up to him. Once in reach, John curled his hand into a fist and mustered enough strength to deliver a painful blow to Rodney's arm.

'"Ow!" he yelped, but grinned anyway, and for a moment, everything was as it should be.

"Nothing you could have done," John told him as Rodney rubbed the assaulted spot. "Not like we had any clue as to what they would do or how far they would go to get what they wanted. Besides, who else could have back-tracked the Gate address and led you to the right planet? You were where I needed you to be." Rodney remained silent, but nodded in response, looking at least a little calmer.

"Well I'm glad you two have that sorted out," Carson interrupted the conversation, though not with too strict a tone, "but I need to take care of my patient now." Almost on cue, a brief spasm gripped John's gut, making him grimace and shiver, and Rodney squirmed with discomfort and took a step back.

"I'll come back later, when you're, um, less prone to ejecting bodily fluids at me," he said apologetically, and made his exit, muttering something about wasted coffee. John let out a long sigh. As much as John appreciated the company, right now he was relieved to see Rodney go.

"How are you feeling, John, everything all right?" Carson inquired, taking John's arm and turning it slightly so he could inspect the fluid line and see if it was still properly attached. John hated the feel of the needle in his arm, and fought the urge to yank it out.

"How long until I can get back to eating solids again? I could really go for a turkey sandwich right about now," he groaned, both to change the subject—which he wasn't ready to get into, but also because to his surprise, John actually felt a little hungry. Though he doubted he'd be able to take more than a bite out of anything.

"Not yet, I'm afraid," Carson replied with a hint of a smile. "I'll take another blood test to determine if your system has cleared out the drugs, but even that were the case, I would advise you not to eat heavily for a few days. But the fact that you feel like eating at all is a good thing."

"How long until I can get out of here?"

Carson gave him a look that clearly stated he was well aware of John's evasion tactics, but didn't push the matter, just shook his head and sighed. "It's too soon to make any estimate on that. I think it's best to keep you under observation, see how things develop."

"I'm going to be bored out of my skull," John muttered more to himself than to Carson. The skull in question ached, mild pain throbbing in the rhythm of his pulse. The thoughts running round in circles inside it worried John more than the foreseeable boredom. He needed to get out of the infirmary, out of Atlantis, and the sooner the better, before he started to doubt his decision. Carson hadn't needed to say it; John knew there would be inquiries of several kinds before they could decide whether he could be let out.

"And you are going to have to meet with Dr. Heightmeyer before you can be cleared for active duty," Carson cautiously told him, like he was reading John's mind. No use running from the truth then.

There would be no easy way to do it, but John had to start with someone, and it might just as well be Carson. "I'm not going back on duty," he said, looking up at the doctor, whose brow was already forming questioning lines. "I'm resigning."

 

~~~

 

_"Is this really necessary?" Carson asked, and stared suspiciously at the small firearm John was offering to him. "I'm not comfortable around weapons, big or small. Last time I nearly killed you and General O'Neill." At least the rest of the makeshift firing range was currently empty, making the chances of accidentally shooting someone slimmer. It had been set up in an isolated corner of Atlantis, away from anything that looked even remotely significant to the workings of the giant city._

_"And I forgive you for that," John replied, clearly frustrated. He'd been surprisingly patient with Carson so far. "But you know that every civilian member of the Expedition has to be familiar with the basics of operating a firearm, and you've been avoiding this for too long." He took Carson by the hand, gently pressed the handle of the gun against his palm, and wrapped Carson's fingers around it. The warmth of John's hands did nothing to dissipate the coldness emanating from the metal, but Carson's pulse responded to their touch eagerly. He pulled away before he would start to blush, letting his arm drop down with the weight of the gun. Even unloaded it felt so heavy to him. How did John go around all day carrying something like this, or even bigger weapons?_

_"I am a doctor, not a soldier. I've taken an oath to save lives, not destroy them," Carson tried to protest again. John frowned and his mouth formed a tight line, and for a moment Carson thought he might actually yell at him. But then John just shook his head, muttering something about damned obstinate scientist and doctors, and sighed._

_"Look, Doc, all I'm asking you to do is to learn how to use it, not to kill anyone," John said, "because as much as I would like to, I can't be everywhere at once doing my job. I want everyone to be safe. I want_ you _to be safe, and if that means teaching you how to defend yourself, then that's what I'm gonna do. So please, Carson, work with me on this." Carson had often seen John angry, jovial or serious, but he couldn't recall one time he'd witnessed John looking so... imploring. It dawned on Carson just how much John cared about protecting them all. If he ever discovered a way, the man probably would try to be everywhere at once, taking a bullet for each one of them if he had to._

_"All right." Carson gave in. If him knowing how to handle and fire a gun could ease John's concern even by a fraction, then it was the least that Carson could do. "Just don't blame me if something goes wrong, you have been warned."_

_"At least I don't have to crawl too far to find a doctor," John replied with his usual sense of humour, and a wide smile that in Carson's opinion suited him much better than any other expression. "Come on," John said and went to stand by the small table with the bullets and hearing protection, "this'll be easy."_

_"I wouldn't count on that," Carson said as he cautiously approached John, mentally bracing himself for the task ahead. "I feel infinitely more confident wielding a scalpel than I do a gun."_

_"We'll take it slow, and I promise I'll guide you through each step." Carson was certain John had more faith in him than he deserved, but how could he say no to such an offer, especially when John kept smiling at him like that._

_"Well I suppose this'll be safer than using the control chair. I'm not sure my mind was meant for controlling Ancient things even if my genes were."_

_"That will be answered later," John said with a grin as he picked up a pair of the protective earmuffs, "Next week I'll be teaching you to fly a puddle jumper."_

~~~

 

John was leaving, and the thought wouldn't leave Carson alone—at first it had seemed incomprehensible. John _loved_ Atlantis, anyone who knew him at all knew that.

But Carson had been there, standing right beside Lorne and Elizabeth, when Kate Heightmeyer conducted her first interview with John. Cordoned off from the rest of the infirmary by curtains, the two had talked, voices low and calm, about things more terrible than Carson could have ever imagined. Not the actual events—those John had skimmed through, providing only the amount of information required to construct an estimate of a timeline—but John's dreams. The better ones brought at least the semblance of a smile to John's face, but the bad ones... Carson was not likely to forget the detailed descriptions or the completely emotionless look on John's face any time soon.

Carson went through the rest of the day almost on automatic, concentrating on being a doctor, and trying to ignore everything else. Marie in her ultimate wisdom had delegated as many of Carson's easier duties as possible to other nurses before ending her shift, and then had forced Carson to take a break. He didn't feel any better after taking a short nap, and having reluctantly eaten a power bar from his stash in the drawer of his desk. With a sigh, Carson turned in his chair and got up to do the evening round through the infirmary.

The lights were dimmed and it was quiet now, the varied breathing sounds of his sleeping patients the only company to the echo of his steps. As he came closer to John's bedside, Carson tried to shake off the mantle of weariness and worry, and wore a hopefully reassuring smile instead. At least by now John had stopped twitching at each sound that was louder than average, he hadn't thrown up in a while, and his body was no longer constantly shivering with cold, letting him rest if not yet sleep. The nurses had helped him clean up the dust and dirt from his skin, and even his hair, giving it back some of its rebellious nature.

It was Ronon’s turn to keep watch over John; an unbroken line of people had come in since the word spread that Sheppard was awake, each person spending anything from a brief moment to a few hours by his side, talking, playing cards, bringing him little gifts, or just sitting in silence, making sure with their presence that John felt safe. The Marines appointed to watch him stayed within visual range, but for the most part they made the effort to blend into the surroundings and not disturb anyone.

John kept drifting off and then snapping awake like every dream was just as bad as the one before. Even Ronon’s low voice—reciting from memory something that to Carson’s surprise sounded like poetry—apparently didn’t provide enough comfort for the other man to close his eyes. With the dreams John had been having, and all that had happened to him, who could blame him. But John would need to sleep eventually. Ronon reached the end of the verse, and the poem, falling silent.

John was just lying on his side, staring ahead with tired but vigilant eyes, as if watching out for discrepancies or flaws in the world around him.

“Hey, Doc.” Sheppard greeted him quietly when he finally noticed Carson standing nearby. “Time for another blood sample?” He tried to smile casually, but Carson could tell by his eyes that it was a ruse to fool others, and perhaps even John himself.

“No, no more of those today," Carson replied, hoping he did a better job in hiding his emotions behind his own smile. "Just checking to see how you're doing." He made note of the readings on the monitors, which were slowly, but surely, improving, albeit at a worryingly prolonged pace.

"Still a bit woozy, but no more shakes and shivers," John told him, his tone just as misleading as his smile had been. Ronon gave Carson a brief look and shook his head, indicating John had not slept during his stay. He got up and briefly took hold of John's arm, and then made his way over to a young Marine with a book heading towards the bed; some of the visitors had taken to reading John the copy of War and Peace he'd brought with him to Atlantis. As he headed out, Ronon slapped the arrival on the back and received a sharp nod in return, marking the change of watch.

"No pain anywhere?" Carson asked John, while taking stock of the bag of fluid he was hooked up to, and then proceeding to examine the state of the bruises on John's arms and torso. "Any numbness in the extremities, problems with your vision, or other symptoms?" He gestured for John to turn over.

"Just a minor headache, and my muscles are sore from all the cramps, but other than that, nothing at the moment," John said as he flipped over to the other side, exposing his back. There was a strained note to his reply, and though Carson tried to be gentle in handling him—it was a blessing in itself that there had not been any broken bones—he could feel John tense up, but not out of pain, more like he was staying still only by force of will.

"Good," Carson said and finished hurriedly. The urge to keep touching John, to console him, was so dire that Carson almost gave in. Instead he replaced the covers over John, who rolled back to face his solemn companion. With shivering fingers John drew the blanket all the way up to his neck. Carson picked up another one from the nearby bed, and threw it over him as well.

"I'll leave you to rest then, let me know if there's anything I can do," Carson said, knowing full well John probably wouldn’t, and that the monitors attached to him would be the ones to alert Carson if anything went wrong. There wouldn't be much sleep for either of them tonight.

"Hey, Doc," John called just as Carson was turning to leave. He turned his head towards the doctor, pausing for a moment. "Carson. I'm sorry, for earlier. I wish you hadn't had to hear all of that."

"Don't worry about me, lad," Carson said, willing the lump in his throat to go down. "Try to get some sleep." John nodded, and went back to staring ahead again. As Carson walked back to his office, he heard the young Marine open the book and start to read in a quiet but resonant voice. Carson hoped it would be enough to hide the sound of him crying.

 

~~~

 

_"I'm sorry..."_

_"John. My name is John," he replied. Not exactly classified information so what the hell._

_"I'm sorry, John" Emry continued quietly. His hands were shaking as he tended to John's puncture wounds, wiping them with a clean looking cloth that he dipped into a bowl of water that probably also contained something antiseptic—it had that certain sting. Everything hurt, in a multitude of ways, so what was one more thing. "I didn't know they would go this far. This is wrong."_

_"You tried," John said, and tried to rise into a better sitting position, to improve circulation to his tied-up legs. The coolness of the wall at his back was soothing to skin that felt like it was on fire. So far they hadn't resorted to actual physical violence to make him talk, out of fear perhaps—they clearly had never done this before—or maybe thinking that eventually they would find a chemical that would do the job for them. The interrogation had revolved around the subject of Ancient technology, but apparently Modun had at some point learned about other things too, like C4._

_"Why are we here?" John asked. He needed to learn more about these people, and Emry was his best shot. John closed his eyes to stop seeing the nastily bright coloured swirls that made the word sway like he was high on something. Oh, wait, he was._

_"I don't mean just the tech, what are you really after." There were others in the group of eleven who John suspected were not happy with the way things were handled, but Emry was the only one who had the guts to say something about it, so he'd be most likely to talk. Emry's hands paused for a moment, and then John could feel him sit down next to him._

_"All our lives, we were trained for one thing, and that is to protect our people," he told John. "Our tasks may be varied, but we all share an ultimate goal—to defeat the Wraith, by any means necessary. It's our obsession."_

_"Yeah, I kinda figured that out." Talking to a Genii you could actually reason with was a novel experience, one that John might have enjoyed under other circumstances._

_"There are those who feel that our current leader is not doing enough, not pushing things along fast enough. People who looked up to Cowen and Kolya and what they were doing."_

_"People like Modun?"_

_"Yes. And people like him always gain followers. But this... I didn't sign up for this, I don't think any of us did."_

_"Why'd you join him then, if you knew what he was like?"_

_"He had ideas, and they sounded inspiring at the time," Emry said a little wistfully. "But the more I spent time with him, and the more people gathered around him, the less I liked what he became."_

_"It's still not too late, you could try to persuade him to—"_

_"No!" Emry interrupted, scrambling up from the floor. John opened his eyes to see his expression. It was full or terror; Emry feared, for John, and for himself. "You don't understand. His father was taken by the Wraith not too long ago, the others have lost family and friends to those monsters too, and they want—"_

_"To do something. Make a difference. Get revenge." John had seen his share of people like that during his military career. They searched for purpose, something to fill the hole in their lives created by loss. Unfortunately, they sometimes filled it with all the wrong things, things that resulted in collateral damage. The door to the cell opened, and the wary face of Hala peeked in._

_"Modun wants to see you, Emry," she hastily told them before disappearing. That was all John ever saw of her, flashes. She couldn't be more than fourteen, but her eyes were older._

_"She has lost more than any of us," Emry said, voice full of sadness. "Her parents were scientists, working on some secret project that was to be our great hope in the coming war. Whatever it was, it made them sick. She watched them wither away and die, never knowing why. Sometimes I wonder if it would have been better if they'd been taken by the Wraith." He picked up the bowl and cloth from the floor. "I'll bring you water and something to eat later," he whispered hurriedly._

_The door closed behind Emry with a loud metallic clang, and John was left alone in the small room. He raised his knees up and wrapped his arms around them, trying to ignore the rope chafing his wrists, and closed his eyes again. Best sleep while he had the chance._

_His dreams were filled with shadows, lurking beyond his reach._

 

~~~

 

The sound of footsteps approaching woke John from his semi-slumber and random dreams that for once had been blissfully blurry instead of the horrifyingly detailed kind he'd been seeing lately. He knew who it would be, by the determined pace that neither hurried nor lingered, but advanced with speed chosen for the occasion. Elizabeth Weir could even walk diplomatically.

Carson on the other hand had left with a slow, unsure gait after their last conversation, his shoulders slumping just enough for John to notice. Even when Carson tried to conceal his emotions, there was always a telltale sign or two, and they had spoken volumes—volume one, 'Fatigue', volume two, 'Concern', volume three, 'Confusion'—a whole shelf of them. He had always admired Carson for being true to what he felt, as much as he valued Rodney for his ability to speak his mind, but now John felt sorry for the doctor. He hoped Carson wouldn't have to sit through another of John's sessions with Heightmeyer; he worried the man might not be able to bear it. 

John was tired as hell, but sleeping wasn't really an appealing option at the moment. He blinked his eyes a couple of times, and focused on his current 'guardian'.

The almost incurably cheery middle-aged woman was from one of the science teams, probably sent by Rodney who no doubt expected to get a full and detailed report on her return; if Rodney could have, he'd have kept a continuous watch on John himself, but Atlantis had a way of keeping him busy. Despite initial annoyance, John had to admit it had been surprisingly calming to listen to the woman's endless chatter about everything and nothing and the ceaseless clicking of her knitting needles. John gathered she was making woolly socks, an experiment in Athosian yarn which was apparently going well, apart from some issues with colour choices.

"What time is it?" John asked her.

"Well past midday, dear," she replied, with a distinctly British accent, "and I do believe you are about to get another visitor." She pointed at Carson's office where Elizabeth had stopped, obviously to get an update on John's condition. "Think I best get out of the way, give you some privacy." That said, she gathered her knitting and rose to leave.

"Thank you, um," John didn't even know her name. He didn't know the names of half the people who had stayed by him.

"Call me Evelyn," she said, and smiled. "I'll be back later to take your measurements, never met a man who wouldn't benefit from a good pair of woolly socks." Then she was gone, leaving John facing an empty chair. He hadn't had a moment to himself since he was brought here, a thing which he was both annoyed by and grateful for. Seeing all those people come in, friends, acquaintances, colleagues, peers—it only strengthened John's opinion on what he must do. He knew he would be leaving Atlantis and its people in good hands with Elizabeth and the others, no matter who they sent to replace him. Getting rid of the nightmares would be another story. They were persistent, always waiting for him to close his eyes, showing him death upon death upon death.

John could hear Elizabeth approaching, so he rolled over onto his back and sat up, stretching his aching muscles as much as the position allowed. His head still felt woozy every time he rose too upright too fast, but the effect wasn't as intense as before. His legs were still weak, but at least he could already move them.

"Hello, John. How are you feeling?" Elizabeth asked as she reached the side of the bed. She remained standing beside it, watching John thoughtfully, but with a smile. Her face was pale, like she had slept about just as much as Carson, Rodney, and the others, meaning very little.

"Like someone put me through a wringer, but hey, at least I'm alive," John said, almost succeeding in keeping up the laid-back appearance. He knew this visitor would not be the babbling or the silent type. Elizabeth would be patient, and polite, but she would be seeking answers.

"Carson tells me you're making steady progress."

"I'd prefer fast over steady, being bedridden doesn't suit me," John replied. "I really hate those bottles you have to use to—"

"Well I prefer you not rushing things," Elizabeth interrupted hurriedly, but with a skilfully suppressed grin. "For now I want you to focus on getting better, and getting your strength back. The rest can wait." She really meant that. Things could wait, they would make do without John the best they could. The only one who couldn't wait was John.

"I won't be taking back the command, Elizabeth. I'm resigning my position, and I'm going back to Earth." Only the smallest slip in her expression showed her shock at blunt the statement, but she soon regained her composure.

"John, perhaps this is not the best time to be making that kind of decisions—"

"It's the perfect time!" He hadn't meant to raise his voice, but John needed to make this clear once and for all. "I had plenty of opportunities to think this over during my captivity, and the days since." The thought had occupied his mind every waking hour, just as the nightmares had dominated his sleep. "I'm no longer fit for command, and it's best for us all that I leave!" The Marines on duty had started to gradually advance, one of them talking on the radio.

"May I ask why?" Elizabeth inquired as calmly as ever. "From everything I've heard from your team about what happened, you did exactly what needed to be done, and no-one has questioned your actions. So what has changed to make you doubt yourself?"

"Me," John replied curtly. "I can't do this any more, I won't, and having to explain myself to you or to anyone else won't change my mind. So either let me go, or I'll find a way that forces you and the SGC to discharge me." He could see how much she wanted to know more, but for now, Elizabeth lowered her head, closed her eyes, and sighed as she crossed her arms over her chest.

"No." The denial was calm, but irrefutable. Lorne arrived to join the Marines, looking worried. Elizabeth briefly glanced his way, minutely shaking her head. Lorne nodded, and he and the Marines remained on the sidelines as Elizabeth continued.

"You of all people should know things aren't that simple. Right now you're a liability. We have only limited information about what happened to you out there, and it all comes from one source—you. And considering the way you're behaving..." Elizabeth paused. She took hold of the railing on the side of John's bed, letting part of her weariness show through in her eyes as she looked at John. "If you were in my position, what would you do?" Elizabeth asked quietly, and as irritating as it was, she had a point. John had to admire her for that.

"I would have probably locked me up already," John replied. He _was_ a liability, but the others had given him the benefit of the doubt for now. John wouldn't have been so lenient. Protecting the Expedition and Atlantis came first, both John and Elizabeth knew this. But right now John wasn't really thinking straight.

"All I'm asking, is that you be patient, and let us do our job," Elizabeth pleaded. "Let us help you. Once we are certain you pose no threat, I will not stop you from leaving. Until then I need you to co-operate. Deal?"

"Deal." John replied. He would just have to tolerate the situation as it was.

"Good," Elizabeth said, with a hint of a smile, reaching out her hand to lay it on top of John's. "And if you want to talk, as one friend to another, let me know. We may not always see eye to eye on things, but I think we have more in common than perhaps either is willing to admit."

Her parting steps were not as carefully chosen as before, but more honestly reflected her weariness. John hated himself for doing this to her, for dumping his share of the leadership of Atlantis on her shoulders, but he had no choice.

 

~~~

 

_They held him up when he could no longer stand. Hands, all over him, carrying John from one console to another according to Modun's orders. The lights came on or went off, but nothing further ever happened. Well, something did, but John didn't think it would be wise to mention that to the others; ghosts haunted John at the edge of his vision, whispering something he could quite not hear. It made it hard to listen to the conversation around him._

_"This is pointless, Modun," a voice called from the distance, scared, but determined. "We have done this over and over again, and nothing changes, except he keeps getting worse. He needs help!"_

_"He is lying! Stalling, thinking they'll come for him." Such a harsh voice, yet so desperate. John had known such desperation, the kind that gripped you when you realized how powerless you actually were. "Emry, no-one knows we are here, not even our own people. We will make this work, and then—"_

_"And then what! We go home as heroes? We kill all the Wraith with a single blow and save everyone?"_

_A sound so familiar, of a fist connecting with a living being, then a cry. Part of John wanted to scream too, lunge at the assailant, but he barely had the strength to draw breath._

_"I don't know! Is that what you wanted to hear? I. Don't. Know. But I'm tired of your whining. So either you shut up, or I'll start testing the meds on you."_

_That night, when Emry came to once again bring food and water, and later to take away what John hadn't eaten and clean up what he had thrown up, he didn't speak a word. Emry cried, tears running over the purple bruise._

_That night, the nightmares began._

~~~

 

"John. John!" He snapped awake, rising up and flailing at the ghost, hitting Teyla's arm and knocking over the glass and container of water set on the side table. "John, it was just a dream, nothing more." John recognized first the voice, then his surroundings.

"I'm sorry, I..." John searched for words as he tried to calm down. He hated these moments, the confusion of the transition. "I didn't mean to—are you all right?"

John could see Carson standing at the door of his office, frozen, as if he'd stopped himself midway from running to John when he'd seen Teyla. John gave him a brief nod, letting the doctor know everything was fine, and Carson quietly returned to work.

"I am fine, John," Teyla replied with a calm smile. She picked up the fallen items and poured what water was left for John. He drank it gratefully. "May I ask what you dreamed of? I have often found that sharing that which disturbs me, lessens its hold on me," Teyla said. John shook his head in reply. Describing everything once a day to Heightmeyer was enough, John didn't want to go through the experience twice. He couldn't wait to get rid of the nightmares.

"As you wish," Teyla said, and sat down in the chair by the bed. John put the glass away and flopped back onto the pillows.

"Dammit, I just want to get out of here," John groaned, staring at the ceiling.

"Yes, Elizabeth informed us of your desire to leave Atlantis," Teyla said quietly. She made no further comment, giving John time to think about his response.

Well that explained Ronon's visit last night. He'd come in and just stood there staring at John for a moment with a thoughtful frown, and then apparently had reached some sort of conclusion. Ronon had grabbed his forearm, and after a second of confusion John had wrapped his fingers around Ronon's in a similar way. Then, dead serious, Ronon had spoken.

_True strength comes not from conquering your enemies, but from conquering yourself._

When they were sparring, Ronon would use the same phrase when John wasn't concentrating and let frustration and anger guide his attacks instead of trusting his skills and instinct, not so rare a thing lately. John had been angry a lot.

Then Ronon had declared he would be ready for training when John would be; it was his way of saying John would recover. John didn't have as much faith in himself a Ronon clearly did.

Rodney on the other hand hadn't shown his face today, which was kind of troubling. It either meant that he was at a loss for words, as unlikely an event as that might be, or he was taking his time preparing a speech of epic proportions. Radek had come by, though, and by the looks of him, Rodney wasn't a happy camper. He had very courteously apologized on Rodney's behalf—what kept Rodney away was his fear that once he opened his mouth, he might say things he did not mean. Rodney was heartbroken, but also angry, and he had no illusions about his ability to be brutally outspoken at times.

Teyla would be much more subtle, but the form of the approach didn't matter. John buried his face into his hands, while Teyla patiently waited.

"Don't you ever wish someone else could do it?" he finally asked, flinging his arms out in frustration.

"I'm not sure what you mean, John. Do what?"

"Everything! Make all the choices, issue all the commands, be..." John waived his hands aimlessly, then let them fall back on the bed. "Be the leader."

"Yes, often," Teyla said, the regret in her voice deep and honest. "There have been times when I have wished I did not have to carry the burden." She rose and came to John's side, forcing him to look at her, and there was no trace of remorse in her eyes. "But then I remember that leading my people is not only my duty, it is my choice, and my desire. It is how I serve them, serve something larger than myself, and the thought gives me strength."

"How do you deal... with the pain?" John asked. No other word fit. John had thought he could handle what his position demanded of him, but the more he had come to care about this place, about these people, the harder it had become to ignore the pain of not being able to protect them. That was what John was meant to do, protect and save lives. Now he had become responsible for so many of them, and each loss felt like it was his fault.

Teyla smiled, in a way that was both sad and understanding.

"You accept it," she said. "You should not try so hard to ignore your feelings, but embrace and welcome them. They are what make you a good leader and a good friend, their depth is your strength—trust them to guide your heart, and your mind, and to step aside when needed."

"What if I can't?" What if he never could?

Resting her hands on John's shoulder and arm, Teyla leaned in to touch her forehead to John's. "You will find your way, John. You always do."

John wanted nothing more than to believe her.

 

~~~

 

_It was done. Carson threw the radio on the bed and with a heavy thud sat next to it in the darkness. Elizabeth wasn't happy, and wouldn't accept his decision without some sort of inquiry, but she understood._

_Nothing he had imagined when he joined the Expedition and stepped through the Gate had been anywhere near as terrible as this. So many people had died, were going to die, and there was nothing Carson could do about it. Perna was dead. And it was Carson's fault. Even if there was no way of getting home right now, how could he go on being a doctor after what he'd done? His radio kept beeping, but Carson ignored it. There was nothing anyone could say, no argument that he hadn't already thought of to try and relieve him of his guilt and failed. It consumed him, along with a grief so powerful that Carson couldn't even shed a tear. All he could do was sit there, frozen in the darkness._

_He didn't know how much time passed until the door opened, maybe minutes, maybe hours, and he barely noticed as someone walked in. Not until John was standing right in front of him, and Carson raised his head to see his face, barely lit by the glow coming from the hallway._

_"Please, go away," Carson pleaded quietly. "Leave me be."_

_"No." John said, looking almost angry, but not at Carson, just angry at everything in general. "I have no intention of leaving until you hear what I came here to say."_

_Carson just stared at him, another objection forming on his lips. But then he saw the look in John's eyes, and remembered Sumner, the Wraith, and the burden that had fallen on those suddenly slim-looking shoulders. If anyone knew how Carson felt right now, it was John._

_"I'm not here to tell you it's not your fault," John began, not as sternly as Carson had expected, but with kindness that came from understanding, "no matter how true that would be. I'll leave that to the others. I'm here to tell you that you have to choose. You can either quit now, and let this eat you up inside 'till there's nothing left, or, you can fight, learn to live with it, and make a difference." John paused for a moment, letting the words sink in. "I'd rather you pick the latter option, 'cause quite frankly we'll be in a shit load of trouble without you," John continued, " but the choice is yours, Carson. Just remember that there are still people here who need you, so don't think about it for too long."_

_With that, John had walked out, leaving Carson in stunned silence. No words of pity or encouragement, just a statement, but somehow it changed everything. In his moment of weakness he had forgotten that he still had a purpose, something to strive for; people still needed him and relied on him. If he could not redeem himself in his own eyes, then at least he could still do what he was meant to—save lives._

_But first he needed to mourn; he would deal with everything else later. This time the tears came easily, and Carson surrendered to his grief, weeping for Perna, for the Hoffans, and for himself. He also wept for John, and the sorrow locked in his heart._

~~~

 

"He's starting to get worse." The information didn't hurt Carson any less coming from Marie.

Two more days had passed, and as soft, starlit darkness fell over the city of Atlantis once more, uneasiness settled into Carson's heart. At first it had seemed like John was finally stabilizing. He could stand on his feet, take short walks—accompanied by his guards—and had even reluctantly eaten some soup brought to him by the nice lad from the mess. But Carson knew he still wasn't getting enough sleep.

"Tests show no trace of the drugs, his body is recovering and he is getting stronger—but it will not be long before sleep deprivation will start causing problems, and we can't keep feeding him intravenously for too long without risking metabolic complications."

"I know, Marie, I know." Carson sighed, staring at the readings and test results spread over his desk. He needed a proper shower and a shave, and longed to abandon the confines of the infirmary, have a decent meal in the mess hall, breathe the open air, and sleep in the comfort of his own bed. But all that was inconsequential; what mattered was John. "I just fear that the root cause of it all is not within my power to heal."

He had seen it in John's eyes, in those moments when he had taken his turn at sitting by his side, watching him fight sleep so hard, then being forced to yield to it, only to awaken moments later with pain written all over his features. John refused to talk about his dreams to Carson, and Carson had out of respect for John stayed out of his sessions with Dr. Heightmeyer. But they held meetings with her, together with Elizabeth and Major Lorne, and Carson learned all he needed to through those.

The one thing John _did_ agree to talk about, besides trivial, everyday matters, was his release. Each conversation they had held less and less substance, and ever increasing frustration—one always asking 'when', the other replying 'not yet'.

A polite "Doctor Beckett, may I speak with you for a moment?" from Teyla broke the train of Carson's morose thoughts. She had just finished one of her daily visits with John, having once more graced the place with her songs. The lifting of spirit had been a welcome gift, as the infirmary now housed several more patients, two of them touched by the Wraith. Even though they had been saved in time, with only minimal appearance of aging, they were a constant reminder of the threat facing them and it put everyone on the staff on edge.

"Of course, my dear, come on in," Carson said, and turned to Marie: "I think we can discuss this later, thank you, Marie." She gave him a look that said 'it better be soon' and left the office. "Please, take a seat," Carson continued to Teyla, gesturing towards a small couch near the back of his office, "and tell me what ails your mind." After doing as instructed, Teyla seemed to ponder something before speaking.

"John needs to leave this place," she told him, "and soon."

"He's in no condition to be released, if he—"

"Yes, I know, Carson," Teyla gently interrupted, "and I did not mean to suggest you would leave him without care. But his mind is troubled, weakening his will to heal, and this place is eating away what is left of it." Carson had also seen it, how the light in John's eyes waned, and after the arrival of the latest patients, it had all but vanished. He got up from his chair, and took a seat next to Teyla.

"I am at my wits end," he confessed, and didn't even try to mask the pain he felt. "Beyond what I can do with medicine, beyond what I have tried to do as a friend, I have no way of helping him. At least not any that I would be inclined to resort to." He could make John take pills that would make him sleep, feed him through a tube so he wouldn't just waste away, but the thought turned Carson's stomach. "I won't give up on him, but if his condition does not improve soon..."

"I know your anguish, for it is in my heart as well. I have given John what help and guidance I can, and he listens, but I do not think he hears me.

"I'm afraid I can't be of help there, Teyla, he hardly speaks to me any more."

"Then perhaps you would allow me to offer my help to you instead of John, and share certain... observations, you might call them," Teyla said.

"Please do, I need all the help I can get," Carson replied. Right now, he was praying for a miracle.

"As I have gotten to know him, both as a member of his team and as his friend, I have come to learn that John is a man who was not born to leadership, even if it comes to him naturally," Teyla began. "He has the strength to make the difficult decisions that others shy away from, but I fear it comes at a great emotional cost."

"One that you are more than familiar with I suspect," Carson said, and Teyla nodded with a quiet smile.

"As is any leader who cares deeply about their people, and John is no exception. Neither are you," she pointed out. "You have given aid to many, not caring that they were not of your kind— including my people, for which I will be forever grateful. But you have also faced great suffering for your choices." Carson could not help but think of the Hoffans again, and his gaze fell to the floor. A lifetime would not be long enough to forget them.

"If only John understood how much we care about him," Carson said.

"Being a leader is sometimes a lonely position," Teyla explained, a hint of sadness in her voice. "People look up to you for answers and guidance, and it may be difficult at times to seek those for yourself, for fear of allowing others to see your uncertainty."

"Aye, you're right about that," Carson admitted with a sigh. Being the head of medical staff, he was no stranger to the dilemma. "The hardest part is trying to put aside your feelings when they would only interfere with what you are doing." Or when they would be inappropriate; he thought about John, who still lay in his bed, eyes fighting to stay open, and Carson wanted nothing more than to go over and hold him. But there were lines you could not cross in situations like this.

"In that regard, you and John are more alike than you realize," Teyla told him. "Even now you hold back, afraid that your affection for him stands in the way of you being able to help him, when nothing could be further from the truth."

Carson turned back to her, and realized once again that Teyla was not only very wise, but acutely perceptive as well. Her eyes held no judgement as she reached out and gently placed her hands on Carson's own. "Go to him, be there for him. Not as an efficient doctor, or a worried friend, but as someone who loves him. John needs that right now. And I think you need it as well."

Maybe it wasn't a miracle, but it was certainly a revelation. As a doctor, Carson had seen John only as a patient, or a fight to be won in order to save him. As a friend, he had let his fear and concern for John bury the one thing he should have brought forward. His love for John. It shouldn't be something Carson needed to hide, be ashamed of, or contain, love was something to give, even if it was one-sided.

"Thank you," Carson whispered, though the simple words fell far short of what he wanted to express. Teyla only replied with a slight bow of her head and a warm smile, and then she rose and made her way out of the infirmary. Carson could not move for a moment, adjusting to the sudden shift within him. He felt calmer than in ages, perhaps calmer than ever in his life. Things were finally... right.

First he went out and found Marie, telling her he would be off duty for a while. Marie promised to do what she could to make that happen, stating that Atlantis did house other doctors after all, and they would manage without Carson for the time being. None of the patients were in any immediate danger, and Carson hoped that just for this one night, he would be allowed this reprieve. As he was about to leave, Marie surprised him with a hug and a softly whispered 'good luck, Carson', before she rushed off to her duties. Carson returned to his office, took off his white coat and folded it over a chair. There was only one thing left to do.

Carson walked over to John, relieving the young Marine sitting by the bed from his post, and pulled the chair closer to the bed. John didn't say a word, just lay on his side and watched Carson with those deeply weary eyes. Carson sat down and reached for John's hand. The tired man made no attempt to take it, but John didn't pull away either, even if his fingers curled into a fist.

"You can glare at me all you will, but I won't let go," Carson told him, putting every ounce of resolution and promise into his words he could, "and I will not leave your side. So when you wake up, I will be here, and if necessary I'll pinch you to make sure you're not dreaming. Now will you please go to sleep, lest I be forced to resort to highly unprofessional and unethical methods of anesthesia, like hitting you on the head with something." John didn't reply, but at least the last bit got a small smile out of him, and his clenched hand relaxed a bit.

For nearly three hours Carson watched and waited, their silence shifting from uneasy to companionable, but finally John slowly closed his eyes, and after a while every line on his face, every muscle in his body relaxed as he fell asleep. Every time tension began to creep back in, Carson would squeeze John's hand and speak to him in soft tones until it faded. And no matter how tired or worried Carson felt, his love for John kept him calm, and carried him through the night.

 

~~~

 

_John could no longer feel the coldness of the concrete floor beneath him, or hear anything but the quiet hum of the distant machinery beyond his small makeshift cell. His vision was blurry from the drugs, barely able to distinguish any details in the surrounding gray. It was almost a welcome change to the overly vivid and sharp images the hallucinations brought with them. He could no longer tell what was real. The constant tremors that shook John to the core had become his last hope, a sign that his body still fought back. Time had no meaning any more, and he really should have just given up by now. But instead John curled up tighter, trying to stop the last remnants of heat escaping his thinned frame, a single question screaming in his head._

Are they safe?

_He fell into darkness without an answer._

_John never heard Emry walk in and kneel beside him, never felt the blanket gently laid over him or the warmth of a hand taking his._

_"John, your friends are here, I saw a ship come through the Gate. I alerted Modun and the others and managed to convince them that fleeing would be a better option than fighting. For once, he listened to me. Your people will find this place soon enough, I left a light and a beacon outside to make sure."_

_"I'm leaving the group, and I'm taking Hala with me. Neither of us really wants to go home, there's not much left for us there. But we can't be a part of this any longer. I just..._

_If Emry's face was teary and his voice on the brink of breaking, John took no notice._

_"Even if you can't hear me, I just wanted to say that I hope that one day you will forgive us. All of us."_

~~~

 

What eventually woke John was the soft sound of snoring. He remembered no dreams, only a feeling of deep sorrow, and then joy. _Everyone was safe. They were all home._ John was home.

John opened his eyes to find out there was a head on his bed, right next to his hand, which was still clutched tightly; even in his sleep Carson hadn't let go. He looked peaceful, and John hoped his dreams were too.

Come to think of it, John had never seen Carson so restful. The man had a highly communicative face, never able to completely hide what Carson felt, and while life in the Pegasus galaxy offered plenty of causes for a variety of expressions, peaceful had not really been one of them. John had also never quite realized that he had paid so much attention to one particular face. He'd somehow still managed to completely miss the several days' worth of dark stubble now covering the lower half. Had Carson not left the infirmary even to shave during this time?

John's fingers were getting numb, so he tried cautiously to pull out. He almost succeeded, but immediately after he slipped free Carson bolted upright, eyes wide open. They fell on John, and Carson relaxed.

"You look like crap, doctor," John truthfully noted wish a raspy voice, rubbing his fingers, wincing as life returned to them with a stinging, prickly feeling.

"Well, good morning to you, too, sunshine," Carson replied, a wide smile spreading on his face. Then they hit the awkward silence phase, both still drowsy and a little unsure what to say next. Until John's stomach growled at them. John couldn't hold back the laughter. He rolled over on his back and laughed, like he hadn't in god knows how long, and though it hurt everywhere, it felt so good. A few moments later Carson joined in, and it was good to hear someone else laugh too.

"I think I'm hungry," John noted after their laughter finally subsided. He explored the sensation like it was an old friend found again. First though his mouth could use a toothbrush, but then perhaps a large plate of good ol' bacon and eggs, or the Pegasus equivalent of such things. Oh, and coffee, John had missed coffee. Apparently a more or less solid night's sleep had done wonders for his appetite. And his mood—his problems still hadn't magically vanished, but at least John's head was clearer, leaving room for thoughts other than of his coming departure. "Any chance of a proper breakfast around here? The accommodations leave a lot to be desired, so the food better be good or I'll be forced to give this hotel a less than favourable review."

"Oh, aye, I think something can be arranged, sir," Carson replied with a grin. "But don't get your hopes up too high, it'll take a wee bit longer before you can eat the kind of portions you're used to."

"Hey, I'll be happy just to get rid of this thing," John said and briefly lifted the arm that currently had the needle attached to it.

"That'll go as soon as I've seen you take at least a bite out of something," Carson said, though by the twitch of his hands he looked just as ready to remove the IV as John was. A shadow crossed his face every time it caught his eyes. "John, how are you feeling?" Carson asked, lifting his tired but still pleased gaze back to John. He had asked the question every day, and lately John's response had been everything from muted to angry to ignoring him completely. Yet the doctor had persisted.

"I'm fine, Doc," John replied, and this time he meant it. "I've been better, but I'm fine." The shadows lifted, and Carson's face lit up with a smile—unforced, genuine, happy, and kind of catchy, and John found he wanted to smile too, so he did.

"In that case," Carson announced as he stood up, "if you will excuse me, I think it's high time I took a break to refresh my body with a proper shower, I suspect I don't smell very flowery anymore, and then my spirit with some coffee. But none for you just yet," he added much to John's dismay. Yet John didn't really mind. For now, things were more right then they were wrong. "I'll see if I can find something suitable for you from the mess hall on my way back," Carson promised, "and later, I will see what I can do to arrange a small outing for you, if you have no objections."

"It's not me you have to convince," John told him. The idea of leaving the wretched bed for longer than the short walks he took around the infirmary sounded heavenly, but it would not be up to just Carson to make that call.

"Aye, which is why I cannot promise you it will happen today, or even tomorrow," Carson said, apparently not discouraged in the least by the fact, "but that's no reason not to try. I want you to have something look forward to, and hopefully, something to strive for. If you really wish to leave Atlantis, consider this the first step, and start by making it happen." Carson made sense. John was slowly beginning to see, that this was what they all had been trying to tell him, if only he'd been in any state to listen. One step at a time, not the whole nine yards at once.

Besides," Carson concluded with another smile, "it's my job to get people out of here eventually, or I wouldn't be much of a doctor."

"What kind of excursion did you have in mind," John inquired, and got even more curious when he saw the strangest glint in Carson's eye, "so I'll know what I'm to be aiming for."

"Fishing," the doctor announced, full of glee. Before John could say another word, Carson had already spun on his heels, and was now briskly walking out of the infirmary, with a definite spring in his step.

 _Fishing, huh._ If it meant getting out of this bed and out into the open air, John would give it a try. As first steps go, it could be worse. He was still smiling when Marie came around to take his readings.

 

~~~

 

_Nothing. No matter how hard Carson tried to concentrate, the puddle jumper remained lifeless and still. He let go of the controls and sighed with frustration. "This isn't working."_

_"You've done this before, Carson, you just need to calm down, and focus," John commented from the other seat. For him, the jumper would have lit up in a second if he so wished. On good days, that happened for Carson too, but this was not to be one of those days._

_This wasn't Carson's first flying lesson. He'd flown a jumper successfully before on many occasions, once even through the eye of a storm under severe stress. But as always, John had taken them over to the mainland to train as a precautionary measure. John had been a very good and a very patient teacher; it was practically a requirement when trying to get Carson to operate any Ancient machinery, let alone a thing that he could accidentally crash into Atlantis. Somehow John always managed to persuade Carson into another lesson, even after that one time when he had nearly dropped them into the ocean, and had vowed never to step foot in a puddlejumper ever again._

_But right now, his capable teacher was a part of Carson's problems._

_"Or maybe we can take break for now," John said after a while, making Carson realize he'd been quiet for too long. "You seem a little distracted today."_

_"I do seem to have a few things on my mind," Carson replied, eyes on the scenery outside that opened outside the jumper's window—an understatement if there ever was one._

_"I know there's been a lot going on lately," John said, sounding oddly apologetic, like he was to blame for things. "So if there's something bothering you, and you, uh, want to talk about it..."_

_Where would Carson even start? John almost turning into a bug, and Carson trying to fight the change, not sure if he would succeed? John and his team being taken by Ford's gang, and Carson fearing none of them would ever come back? John being trapped in an Ancient time dilation field, where he might have died of old age before being saved? Carson having thoughts about John that he could not get out of his head long enough to pilot a bloody puddlejumper?_

_Carson had not been himself for days, with all these things running havoc on his mind, and knowing he would have to find some sort of resolution soon. Carson had entertained the thought of telling John, more than once. At least then the whole thing would be cleared one way or another, and Carson could stop thinking about it. But he always came to the same conclusion; this was not the time or the place. They both had more important things to deal with than his foolish heart._

_"Carson," John said softly, placing a hand over his shoulder, and suddenly Carson's mind calmed down. "Talk to me."_

_Carson turned to face John and stared straight at those wonderful gold and green eyes that looked at him from under a worried brow, and surrendered to the truth. "I'm in love," he blurted out before he could think. John looked contemplative at first, like there were a thousand thoughts running through his mind, then for the briefest moment—so short that surely Carson must have imagined it—there was sadness. Then his face lit up with a smile. It didn't reach his eyes the way it used to._

_"It's Cadman, isn't it? I heard rumours about that," John said, slapping Carson on the shoulder and then leaning back in his chair, still grinning. "No wonder you have a hard time concentrating. Though I have to admit, sharing a kiss via Rodney doesn't seem like the ideal way to start a relationship, but I wish you luck."_

_And thus had Carson's dilemma been solved, not perhaps in a way his heart had hoped, but in a way that would be for the best. It was true, he had tried dating Laura, but both had soon agreed that it wouldn't work out, not when one of them didn't really have their heart in it._

_"I'm really not at liberty to discuss the details, Colonel," Carson replied, and hoped that his expression was suitably hesitant for the occasion. "I think I'm ready for another try," he said, turning to take the controls again before John had time to start asking any questions._

_This time his mind was at peace, and the puddlejumper came alive under his touch, and rose up into the blue sky._

 

~~~

 

"Carson, are you sure he's ready?" Elizabeth asked, and Carson could see the hope in her eyes, as well as Lorne's. They sat across the table from him and Kate Heightmeyer, like they did every time during these meetings, quietly listening to their reports on John's condition. They had been visible surprised by Carson's suggestion, but in a positive, relieved way.

"Medically speaking, yes," Carson replied. "In the last five days John's condition has markedly improved, but we are giving him liquid nutritional supplements in addition to what he manages to eat each day. All his test results are good, even if some of them are still borderline." John also slept better, had ever since they had removed the IV. He seemed to be doing generally well.

But that was already old news to them all. They exchanged information about John's condition several times a day, and now that the worst seemed to be over, there wasn't much to report.

"And if I may be permitted to offer my personal opinion," Carson added as a final note, "I think he's ready mentally, too." If his restless mood was any indication, John was likely to go stir crazy if he didn't get out soon. Yet it was his normal type of restlessness, the kind that had him joking about digging a tunnel with a spoon and making a run for it.

"I agree," Dr. Heightmeyer joined in. She looked less strained with each passing day; Kate was strong, and not easily fazed, but having to work so intensely with John in addition to her other duties had taken its toll. "John still has a lot to process, and I will continue my sessions with him. He has without a doubt gone through a traumatic experience, one that will take time to heal, but his chances for recovery are good. Especially now that John has fully committed himself to getting better." All the eyes in the room were on her, expectant, hopeful. Carson's probably more than the others.

"And what is your opinion on his condition? Would you still consider him to be a liability to us?" Elizabeth voiced the question they were all thinking about.

"I can't make a prognosis yet on how long he will need to recover. But I can already say, based on Dr. Beckett's findings and mine, that there are no neurological or behavioural signs of him being under the control of anyone else but John himself. I believe most of the initial symptoms were due to the drugs he'd been subjected to and the experiences he had undergone. John may be a little off balance, but right now he is no threat to us. I'm also certain that it would only be beneficial to him, and greatly help with his recovery, to give him a little more control over his life."

"That sounds like a yes to me, Doc," Lorne said to her, and a cautious smile spread on his face.

"Yes," Kate replied, starting to smile ,too, "I think Colonel Sheppard is ready to be released, and can be allowed to return to his quarters, under the condition that he continues seeing me and Doctor Beckett on a regular basis." The sense of relief in the room was almost tangible, as if a breath that been held in for so long finally been released. For all of them, constantly having to keep an eye on someone who they had come to know, trust and befriend, wanting to believe it was really John, but forced to consider the other alternative—they could all sleep more soundly tonight.

"I guess that means you have a fishing trip to plan, Carson," Elizabeth said, in a tone more cheerful than Carson had heard from her in weeks.

"And I know just the perfect spot," Carson replied with a happy grin.

 

~~~

 

_"I think I'm in love with John," Carson blurted out as soon as Rodney paused to inhale during one of his tirades about one of his many apparently brainless lab assistants._

_"—and then the moron had the audacity to claim that... Wait, what? John? As in John Sheppard? Really?" Rodney sputtered, so loud that Carson thought all of Atlantis must have heard. Fortunately, it was three in the morning, and there was no-one else in the lab._

_"I shouldn't have said anything, just forget it," Carson said and got up from the chair. He'd been tossing and turning around in his bed all night; keeping the secret to himself was driving him crazy, and it had felt like such a good idea at the time. Most nights Rodney wandered into the lab at some point for one reason or another, so there had been a good chance of finding him there._

_"What? Nononono, sit, sit," Rodney insisted, pressing Carson down by the shoulders. "I was just—unprepared for this," he explained, putting down the dry marker he'd been using to make some calculations on the board next to him. Then he sat down across Carson, his face going through a multitude of expressions as his mind shut off other processes and digested the information, until it settled on curious. "Why didn't you tell me? I never even knew you were interested in men."_

_"I didn't think it pertinent information," Carson replied truthfully. It hadn't crossed his mind to talk about the subject, since Carson hardly had any time to even to think about having a social life, let alone actually having one. He hadn't even felt the inclination to fall in love with anyone after Perna. But then again, Carson had always had a thing for John, ever since they met. He'd just ignored it as a passing crush, and that should have been a warning sign if any._

_"Well, have you told John?" Rodney asked, now clearly curious and eager to learn more._

_"No! And I'm not going to," Carson replied determinately._

_"Why not? He's going to find out about it anyway, you're not exactly an expert in hiding how you feel, and John can be quite perceptive about these things. Well, most of the time, anyway. Actually, he's quite often oblivious when it comes to things like this, so you may have a chance after all."_

_"I just don't think it's the right time or place to tell him." Carson tried to protest. "It's not like things are about to get any easier in the near future, and even if he felt anything for me, which is improbable, when would we ever have time to do anything about it? He's almost constantly off-world and I'm hardly ever out of the infirmary."_

_"Time is always wrong," Radek announced as he sleepily hobbled into the lab, "and time is also always too short. Better to take a risk before it's too late." He walked over to Rodney, and to Carson's utter surprise, gave him a small kiss. "Back to bed, miláčku, you need sleep." At this point Rodney registered Carson's stunned expression, and he looked a little ashamed._

_"I honestly meant to tell you sooner, but with the way things have been, something kept coming up." Then he looked at Radek, with such adoration, and Carson couldn't help but feel happy for them. They were probably a perfect match for each other; Radek was one of the few people who could ever keep up with a mind like Rodney's, and also one of the few who would love him for who he was._

_"It doesn't matter," Carson told Rodney and smiled. "I'm happy for you."_

_"Bed. Now," Radek intervened. "We are all tired, talk more tomorrow," he said sleepily and grabbed Rodney's arm, and then Carson's. "Come to my place after seven, I have a bottle I have been saving for a special occasion."_

_"By that he means a bottle of moonshine he traded from one of the Athosians. Nasty stuff, but potent," Rodney commented with a grin. "Don't drink more than two shots if you don't have a head for the hard stuff." Carson decided he'd better not have even one with these two._

_"And then I can tell you how Rodney asked me out," Radek said, and began to pull them out of the lab. "But first sleep."_

_They never really got around to that part, but it didn't really matter. Carson felt better just for having confided in them._

~~~

 

"You can't be serious!" Carson exclaimed, and he sounded genuinely offended. "How can you even suggest that something as simple as hitting an unresisting, stationary object with a stick with a knob on the end could be considered more interesting or challenging than fishing, the king of sports?" he carried on as they arrived at the end of the pier. This one was closer to the water than some others, making it more suitable for the purpose of their outing. Though John couldn't help but wonder if anything edible swam in these waters. He'd seen some of the things the Athosians had caught, and the idea of eating any of them made him shudder.

"King of sports? Waiting for fish to bite? Nah, I don't think so," John countered, with feigned disinterest. He could have made the argument for real, but the day was pleasant and bright, the breeze from the ocean brought in a scent of fresh, salty air, and he felt good and oddly mischievous. The long sleeves of his shirt covered the marks on his arm, helping him to ignore them.

"Now golf, on the other hand," John said, and much to Carson's horror moved to take a seat right on the edge of the small pier, "requires precision, muscle co-ordination, understanding of trajectories and wind speeds, and a multitude of other skills—" he almost stumbled, and Carson nearly dropped his tackle box when he saw it, but kept his distance. "Making it infinitely more appealing to me than a pole with a string and a hook attached," he concluded, both his little speech and his manoeuvre.

"Clearly your notions about the joys of fishing are severely antiquated, and I shall personally see to it that this state of affairs is rectified," Carson said as he sat down next to John, and lay the fishing rods and tackle box on the ground, along with the small cooler he had brought with him. Currently it contained icepacks, bottles of water and a bag of oddly small triangular sandwiches, but the ever-optimistic doctor had during their trip down here told John all about his plans of filling it with wild marine life. He had even dressed accordingly, and wore the wide-brimmed canvas hat with visible pride.

After unloading his equipment, Carson began the complex task of selecting appropriate lures. John took the opportunity to just sit and enjoy his freedom.

They hadn't had many chances to talk since... Since that night. The next day Lorne's team had come in with refugees from a planet that had just been culled by the Wraith, and the infirmary was had been swamped with patients. Otherwise, the days had passed on the usual lines, with people coming in and out and Carson bustling about the infirmary.

Meeting people had been different this time round. John hadn't really realized how many of them there were, and he still couldn't quite figure out why they came in the first place. Cheery Evelyn had kept her word and swung by with a measuring tape. Trying to stop her had been an embarrassingly futile battle, but she'd insisted he had nothing to be ashamed of, and that she had seen some terrifying feet in her time. So had John just given in, and begged her to leave the gruesome details out.

Lorne had stopped by, too. He'd brought a painting with a view of Atlantis and the ocean, and John suspected it was his way of saying he'd be okay with whatever John would choose to do. On some level, Lorne probably understood John better than anyone. The view in the picture had included the skyline and horizon opening up before John now, and it was consoling to know that he could take at least one piece of it with him. Paintings weren't as likely to be confiscated as photos or alien artefacts.

John had slept through much of the days, catching up on what he'd lost. His dreams still weren't always the most pleasant ones, but now he could see them for what they were—manifestations of his own fears. John had a long history of dealing with those, so he had no doubt he would get the best of them. Regaining his ability to lead, and learning how to handle the associated pain, would be another matter. John had never been at home with his emotions like Carson was.

New dreams had appeared as well, ones where John felt safe, in a sanctuary among his friends, or held by strong arms that would never let him fall into darkness again.

Then, all of a sudden, John had been free to leave. Carson had been the one to make the announcement, but he didn't have time be around when John finally walked out of the infirmary. Someone had brought John a set of his civilian clothing, and putting them on and walking through the corridors of Atlantis had felt lonely after spending such a long time surrounded by people.

When John had reached his quarters, a small reception party had been waiting for him. Teyla had been there, as well as Elizabeth, Lorne, and Ronon. Rodney and Radek had come by later, bringing with them a bottle of something that would probably be better suited to cleaning floors than drinking, but it had done wonders for the slight awkwardness that had hung in the air. John had been happy and grateful for all of it, but he could also sense things weren't yet what they had used to be.

After they had all left, John had settled into his own bed. The silence of the place had been both unfamiliar and comforting at the same time, but once he'd fallen asleep, John had slept for ten hours straight. Then he'd been woken up by an overly excited doctor in a funny hat. But at least Carson had had the foresight to bring a large mug of coffee.

"What do you have against golf anyway?" John finally asked out of curiosity, and to stop thinking about going back to that quiet room later. Plus he did really want to know. There wasn't much he actually knew about Carson; like that he made most of his own lures. John turned to take a look at Carson's collection of hand-made mystical things to attract fish with. "I thought it was supposed to be a Scottish invention, a national sport or something."

Carson carefully lifted some of them out of the box for inspection.

"Medical school," Carson replied with uncharacteristically strong disdain, while comparing a lure with subtle green colouring and one that was brightly yellow. "I was usually the only one in a group who wasn't that into golf, so I soon grew quite tired of the subject, and of people constantly being surprised that I don't like golf, because I'm both Scottish _and_ a doctor. Sometimes it made me feel like learning the game was a professional requirement." Apparently Carson decided to give the chosen two lures a go, and started to attach the fishing lines to them.

John found watching his hands at work oddly fascinating; they didn't look like they were built for delicate work, yet they could construct such tiny things, and stitch wounds so they left hardly a visible scar. They were also hands that had held John's own when he opened his eyes back on Atlantis, and through a night without letting go, making them an even stranger thing to behold in John's mind. There were no other hands like them.

"Did you always want to be a doctor?" John asked. Carson stopped what he was doing, hands falling into his lap. He seemed to think about the question for a moment. Maybe no-one had actually asked that of him before?

"Like any child I dreamt about becoming a lot of things, like an astronaut or a pilot," Carson told him, and John could hear the happy smile in his voice. "But once I got the idea of being a doctor in my head, it stuck harder than the others. Now I can't really imagine being anything else, even if I've had my moments of doubt." John knew which moment Carson was referring to. The Carson John had seen then, sitting on the bed in darkness, paralyzed by overwhelming guilt and grief—John understood that man even better now than he had then.

You just couldn't save them all, no matter how hard you tried, and no matter now much it hurt, you had to move on. Throughout his military career John had lived knowing that, but had never been faced with the full reality until the drugs had forced him to. For John, it had been the most painful thing in his life, but with time he hoped he would learn to accept it, to dull its edge. Carson had dealt with losing people as long as he'd been a doctor, but for him the pain would always be the same, he would never stop caring any less about the ones in his care. Yet in spite of that, he kept going.

After leaving Carson's room that night, John had stayed outside his door, waiting and hoping. When he'd finally heard Carson crying, he'd known the doctor would eventually be all right. At that moment, John had envied the man then for that simple ability as much as he had been relieved that what had happened had not taken it away from him. If he ever stopped feeling such pain, he would also stop feeling joy, and he would not be Carson anymore. And for some reason, that had come to mean a lot to John.

John became aware of pair of eyes focused on him. He didn't want to face them, because if he did, John knew he would be able to read Carson like an open book, and it would be easier not knowing what was written there right now. John wasn't blind. He just wasn't ready to handle this, not when he didn't plan on staying.

"Did you always want to become a pilot?" Carson asked, his hands returning to their work. He wasn't blind either, and never inconsiderate.

"As long as I can remember, all I wanted to do was fly," John replied. He had always been happiest in the sky. He hoped he would still get a chance to fly one day, even if it wasn't spaceships. If he had dared to hope for it, John would have wished he could return here one day.

"Ah, there you go," Carson said happily, and offered the fishing rod to John, now complete with a lure. "Let's see what we can catch with these things."

They stayed on the pier for hours, taking a break from the fishing to eat the strange little sandwiches. Not a single creature of the deep decided they wanted a taste of their lures—and they tried several of them—but John was happy nonetheless. He did his best not to think about the fact that the Daedalus was due back in a few days, and that would mean leaving Atlantis.

 

~~~

 

"You can't let him leave like this," Rodney insisted, circling around Carson to face him again. Carson sighed. He was getting more inclined by the minute to tell Rodney to butt out of his business, and get out of his quarters. This was not how Carson had planned to spend the evening. They had already said their awkward goodbyes with John, and Carson had no intention of seeing him again. He had barely escaped without tears the last time.

"He's right, you know," Ronon agreed from his position on Carson's bed. He was apparently a little put off by the softness of the mattress. "You should tell him, before it's too late." Perfect, bloody perfect—so even Ronon knew. Did Carson have 'I love John' written on his forehead?

"I agree with Rodney as well," Teyla joined the chorus, coming to stand beside Carson. As if it wasn't bad enough that Rodney had somehow managed to recruit Ronon to join him, but Teyla, too? Carson knew the trio meant well, but John had already made his decision to leave, and what could Carson ever do to sway the mind of someone as stubborn as John?

"What would be the point?" Carson asked them, eyeing each one in turn. "Who are we to make up his mind for him?"

"We are his friends," Teyla told him, "people who care about John, who know how much this place means to him. This is his home, as it is ours."

"He's still not seeing this right," Rodney added almost despairingly. "John thinks he can solve this by running away and hiding everything under a rug, simply because he can't shoot or blow his way out of this one." Carson knew well what they both meant. John might have convinced himself that he leaving would be best both for him and Atlantis, but in truth, Carson feared it would do him more harm than good.

He had tried to persuade John to reconsider, as had Elizabeth and Kate, and probably the whole of John's team, in the hopes that now that John thought with a clearer mind, he would see that there still was a place for him here, even if it not as the military commander of the Expedition. But like an immovable mountain, John had stood behind his decision.

"I thought..." Carson began, the words sticking in his throat. "I thought that John would finally see that we are here for him. See, that he does not have to bear the weight of everything on his own and be crushed by it. See that he is loved."

"And he will, but only if you help him to," Teyla said, taking Carson's hands into her own.

"Why me?" Carson asked her. "If he wouldna listen to one of you, why should my opinion make any difference. Teyla's smile was sweet, reaching all the way up to her joyful eyes.

"If you don't know the answer to that," Ronon cut in before Teyla could reply, rolling out of the bed and onto his feet in one swift motion before walking over to Carson, nudging Rodney aside, and slapping his big hands on Carson's shoulders. "Then you're not as bright as I thought. Go, tell him, fight for him. Or lose him forever."

 

~~~

 

"Rodney, if that's you again..." John said, stuffing the pile of clothes into his bag and picking up the next one, his back to the opened door.

"It's Carson." John stopped packing. Damn it. He thought he was done with the goodbyes. It was like the infirmary all over again, people coming to him in corridors, the mess hall, even the guy in charge of the uniforms had wished John a safe return one day when he'd taken back his military issue clothing—like they were all suffering from the same delusion that John was merely going on a short vacation. Rodney had pestered him about the subject three times today, Teyla had pleaded with John in her polite manner, and Ronon... He had sat for hours on the training room floor, refusing to give any parting words. 

"I didn't really expect to see you again," John said, throwing the clothes on the bed, what little peace of mind he had gathered from the approaching departure gone.

"To be honest, I didn't expect to see you again either," Carson replied and he sounded honest, but also a little lost. "I was fully prepared to just wait in my quarters until the Daedalus had cleared orbit, and you were well on your way to Earth. I was even almost convinced that it was the only course of action that I could take, without making a fool out of myself, or getting hurt."

"Don't," John said, harsher than he wanted to. He could see where this was all heading. "Don't you dare do this to me now, Carson."

"I'm not doing anything worse than you're already doing to yourself, John," Carson replied.

John heard him take a few steps closer, the door closing behind Carson with a soft hiss. John still didn't dare to turn around and face him. After all those other people, after already walking away from him once, a part of John feared there would be no fight left in him anymore.

"I'm doing what I have to do," John said, knowing it wasn't only the man behind him he was trying to assure of the rightness of his choice; the only one he had, and the only one he could make. John might be strong enough to be a soldier, but not a leader of these people. "Leave me be, Carson, please." Behind John there was only silence, and for a moment John thought he had won this final battle. Then he heard a heavy sigh.

"I will not." Carson's voice was verging on anger when he finally spoke. "I'll not be going anywhere until I've had my say." Suddenly there were hands on John's arms grabbing them painfully and twisting him around. John was so stunned by the assault from Carson that his body didn't even have time to react—and then he was held in place by the look on that face. There were the beginnings of tears, but also such fierce determination, and in Carson's eyes the faintest glimmer of hope.

"You maybe too bloody stupid or blind to see that there are people here who care about you," Carson said, louder than John had ever heard him, "but that sure as hell doesn't mean we're gonna give up on you!" He let go of John, taking a few deep breaths before continuing, more gently now.

"Why do you think all those people came to see you when you were recovering? Out of duty, out of obligation, out of common courtesy?" John didn't really have an answer to that, any more than to why there was a pair of neatly knitted woolly socks at the bottom of his bag, with an equally neatly written card that said _'It's a cold world out there, John, and a pair of socks can only protect you so far. Find the one who keeps you warm. Love, Evelyn'_ , or why the sight of them hurt.

"You have given them hope. You have given _me_ hope." Carson answered the question for him." We look up to you not because we expect you to save us all, but because you lead by example. Because you consider yourself one of us, not above us. And when you needed it the most, they wanted to give that hope back to you."

"Carson—" John whispered, but the protest died on his lips, because the words would not come out when those eyes were on him, holding no ounce of pity, contempt, or fear, only love.

"Someone once gave me two choices. You can either quit now, and let this eat you up inside 'till there's nothing left, or, you can fight, learn to live with it, and make a difference."

Carson wasn't playing fair, using John's own words against him.

"The situation is different, Carson, I—" John tried to explain, but Carson would have none of that.

"I'd rather you pick the latter option," he continued quoting John, 'cause quite frankly we'll be in a shit load of trouble without you, but the choice is yours. There are still people here who need you—" Carson paused.

"—I need you. And there are people here, that you need, John. You are not alone in this, how can you not see that?"

John had to close his eyes, hide in the darkness behind them. He could hear how his radio gave a soft beep on the table beside his bed, signalling the call he'd been waiting for, and Carson's soft breath, as he waited for John to say something. John found himself torn between the two, time silently ticking away while he could not for the life of him move either way. Going to Earth would be a one way ticket, John had no doubt about that, but it offered a way out, promising a life perhaps not as fulfilling, but more bearable. Atlantis offered everything John had ever wanted, but only if he was willing to pay the price demanded of him.

"Oh for heaven's sake, what do I have to lose..." John heard Carson mumble softly.

Warm, cautious finger cradled John's face, holding him like something fragile and precious, and lips so infinitely gentle came to meet John's, tearing through his wall of resistance like it was the thinnest of papers. John gave in, letting his mouth respond and reply to Carson's silent plea. _Yes, I will stay, with you, for you, for them all, for Atlantis._

There was no more hesitation or doubt, no decisions to be made between futures equally daunting. There was only the kiss, sweet and sultry like the midsummer sky, and the warmth of Carson against him, more real than anything in the world, and the infinite number of possibilities they opened up for him—and finally John could see.

The pieces of his life would fall into place eventually, all John had to do was to start with one and work his way from there. He had made his choice. John was home, and he was wide awake.

 

~~~

 

Epilogue

 

"Unscheduled off-world activation," Chuck announced. "Receiving Genii IDC."

"Let them through," Elizabeth told him, and watched the shield vanish, leaving only the rippling surface of the wormhole. A moment later, two figures stepped through, a tall man in his twenties, who smiled and nodded at Elizabeth, and a slightly more wary young girl, who partially hid behind her companion, but from the safe vantage point took in all of the Gateroom with wide-eyed amazement.

"Call John," Elizabeth said to Chuck, "tell him they're here."

 

~~~

 

John almost didn't recognize Emry and Hala. They had changed much in the six months it had taken John to find them. Both looked well, nicely dressed, and happy, sitting on the couch in John's old quarters. It had felt a more suitable venue for this reunion, instead of the larger place John and Carson had moved in.

"I wasn't sure what to think when I got your invitation," Emry said after they had exchanged the usual pleasantries. "I wasn't sure I wanted to come." He had gained a lot of confidence, which showed in the unabashed way he stared at John, studying his features. Hala sat beside him, silent, but an inquisitive look in her eyes. She even smiled briefly at John. "You look better than when we last met," Emry said with a playful smile. "No uniform this time."

"I'm more of a consultant at the moment," John replied. Lorne made most of the calls, but John was kept in the loop until he returned. "None for you either?"

"No," Emry said, shaking his head. "Students. Hala and I are both studying medicine. The world can never have enough healers, don't you think?"

"I guess that would depend on the type of healing," John couldn't help but reply. He had always been more of a realist than an optimist. "But for what it's worth, I think you'll make a great doctor. Both of you." John had already seen Emry's bedside manners, and he was sure that with Emry's guidance Hala would eventually come more out of her shell too.

"I have a suspicion why you sought us out," Emry said, and for the first time during the conversation he seemed hesitant, and more like the young man John remembered.

"I wanted to thank you," John said, and by the look on Emry's face, it wasn't exactly what he had had in mind. "If it weren't for you, I wouldn't be alive today." Emry lowered his gaze, and Hala wrapped an arm around his shoulder.

"I'm sorry," Emry said. "I know we have no right to expect forgiveness, but—"

"There's nothing to forgive, Emry," John interrupted him. "It wasn't your fault. You were children, trying to do what you'd been taught to, and I can't hold that against you. Not even Modun. I'm alive, all's well, no hard feelings."

"He eventually came back," Emry told him with a sad smile, "the last of our little group, abandoned, and lost. I don't know what has become of him since." Hala nudged him with an elbow, the universal sign of 'get to the point'.

"Ah, yes, there was something else." Emry waited patiently as Hala rummaged through the small bag she had with her, and produced a Genii data device that she handed over to John.

"I believe you have equipment that can read this? It contains a list of all the Ancient sites the Genii have uncovered, courtesy of Radon Ladim."

"How very... nice of him," John said, wondering what had come over the Genii leader. But who was he to look at a gift horse in the mouth—Rodney and his team would take care of that. John saw Hala whisper something to Emry, who began to smile widely.

"Do you think it would be possible to get something to eat? It's been a while since breakfast."

"The least I can do," John said, and smiled back.

 

~~~

 

John watched Emry and Hala descend the stairs towards the ring of the Gate. He'd taken them to the mess hall to eat, given them a small tour around the city, and hopefully provided them with a few hours of the kind of wonder and awe every kid should get to experience. They had a lot of lost childhood to make up for.

"They're great kids, really smart too," Carson said as he walked up to John. "They'll make a fine pair of doctors one day." He wrapped an arm around John's waist and gave him a brief kiss, clearly not giving a damn about what that sort of behaviour did to John's reputation. But then again, John didn't give a damn about his reputation. "I'm thinking maybe in the future, I would like to have them intern for me."

"Only if you promise not to take them fishing on their day off," John said, picking his favourite subject to tease Carson about. The Gate came alive with the usual whoosh, and John noticed how Hala flinched a bit, and would have stumbled if not for Emry. John wasn't sure what their relationship was, and it wasn't really his business either, but it was good to know that no matter what happened, they would have each other to lean on.

"If that's your way of implying you're not looking forward to our fishing trip next week, I'll have you know I have other people lined up who'd be happy to take your place," Carson said. "As I'm sure many would gladly join you for golf this evening."

"Oh, no, you're not using that trick to weasel your way out of playing golf with me tonight," John told him. "Besides, I don't want you fishing with anyone else but me."

"Gentlemen," Elizabeth said from behind them, "perhaps you should continue this discussion in your quarters." She tried to appear stern, but her smile gave her away. "Meanwhile, our guests are ready to leave."

John looked down at Emry and Hala, both already watching him expectantly. John raised a hand and waived, and they both replied in kind, then turned to leave. Right before they reached the gate, Hala stopped, yanked Emry by the sleeve. She looked up at him, and Emry nodded. The young girl twirled around, sprinted up the stairs, and rushed to give John a hug. With a hastily whispered 'thank you', she was gone as quickly as she had appeared, back in Emry's arm and stepping through the Gate before John could even react.

As the shimmering pool vanished, John was left with a thought that made him smile, and gave him solace and hope for the future.

Sometimes, people were strong enough to save themselves.

 

~~~ End ~~~

 

**Author's Note:**

> Signing up for SGA Reverse Bang, I thought I'd be picking a sweet picture, and would write a lovely, happy story to go with that. My muses had other plans. The picture I chose was darker than I had thought, but something about it spoke to me. The artist, the lovely shayasar, had wished for a story with John/Carson, and something about that spoke to me too.
> 
> So, I ended up with a picture and pairing that were about to send me on one hell of a rollercoaster ride. This fic was difficult for me, on so many levels. But I wanted a challenge, and even though I clearly bit off more than I could chew, I'm proud of myself for making it across the finish line. Now my only hope is that, in my humble way, I did right by the wonderful art, and by the pairing that I came to love along the way.


End file.
